Long Live the Prime
by Timeless Tragedy
Summary: Things had gotten out of hand fast, and before he knew it he was standing on the executioner's stage watching the Autobots meet their grim end. If only he wasn't a survivor. Rated for graphic violence/torture


Author: Timeless Tragedy  
Rating: M  
Words: 1556  
Written: November 18, 2014  
Characters: Starscream, Megatron, Knock Out, Optimus Prime, Ratchet, Arcee, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Shockwave. Decepticons  
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Hasbro. Author owns nothing but the vague plot of the drabble  
Warnings: _GRAPHIC SCENES OF_ _TORTURE. Dark themes. Character death._

* * *

There were so many dead. Their Energon coated the grass thickly, a disgusting blanket draped over those who would sleep for eternity. From where he stood, atop the execution platform, he could still see the shattered bits of Ratchet's skull. Hair the colour of copper peaked out from beneath the almost glowing blue liquid. If he tried, he could find other recognizable features scattered around. A thick arm which donned a thick green jacket now almost black from Energon. A woman's hand with nails a rich shade of blue. An eye framed by pale skin and blond eyelashes.

Each blow had disfigured the poor souls until there was nothing left. Their lips torn too badly and swollen too much to allow them to utter even a single syllable. Their skin was wet with their own bright blood, their limbs smashed until they were useless. They were deprived for as long as their bodies could stand it so they stood no chance against their captors. But when the time came... When the executioner readied the chosen weapon, special for each man, they all managed to gather the shreds of what strength they had and say the same thing.

He knew what they said because he was there. A survivor by nature, he had managed to escape the cruel kiss of the executioner's blades. Instead, he watched as they broke every bone in Bulkhead's body with hammers. He watched as Arcee was pulled apart, pulled until her limbs snapped away with her life. Watched as they cut out Bumblebee's eyes, his tongue, cut off his nose. Then they electrocuted him at odd intervals so he could never be ready. But the worst was Ratchet. The old medic was dragged out, bound, gagged, and bleeding, and forced to lay on a medical bed which then tipped so those gathered could see as Knock Out and Shockwave began using medical tools to tear the man apart. They cut into each limb and cut out what they could to make him scream. They used saws on his bones until it was clear he was almost unconscious. Then they gave him more Energon and sewed up the wounds to start it all over again. Life support kept him from dying right away. When they deemed their work finished, they dragged him up and shot him through the head. The cheering front row was splattered with parts of Ratchet. They howled with excitement. It was only when they quieted down, and the body of one of the most loyal Autobots was dragged from the platform, that the festivities continued.

The grand leader himself walked out onto the platform to address those gathered. Megatron, with a cape pinned at his neck and a crown perched on his steel gray hair, lifted his hands to silence them before slowing gazing at every member of the crowd. When he saw the man he was looking for, a smirk spread across his lips, exposing his sharp teeth.

"Starscream..." He said slowly. The survivor lifted his head to acknowledge his leader. "Come up here."

"As you command... Lord Megatron."

He moved through the crowd, glaring at those who dared to stay in his way. With ease, he climbed up onto the platform, heels tapping against the stained wood. He stopped just outside of Megatron's reach and looked at the Decepticon leader with something in his blood red eyes bordering on disgust and pity. Megatron noticed. He smiled.

"Bring out the final prisoner!"

Optimus Prime, the bravest old soul Starscream had ever known was brought to them. It was different this time, for Optimus looked perfectly healthy if one disregarded the paleness of his skin and hollow look in his eyes. He had been forced to listen, Starscream realized. He had listened to each of his friends, his family, die without being able to offer any comfort to them. He had been the worst kind of witness. The mute, helpless one.

"What did they scream, Starscream?" Megatron purred almost directly beside the ex-Decepticon's ear. His hand came to rest on his previous second in command's shoulder, his sharp nails digging painfully into pale skin through the silver jacket the traitor, the survivor wore. "Tell me. I want you to share with Optimus Prime exactly what you heard."

A trap, Starscream knew. If he told the truth... Megatron would use his words against him. If he lied or changed the words, he might receive only a beating, but would he be able to live with the fact the last thing he told his love were lies? He shuddered beneath the hot breath brushing the back of his neck. He might survive after all...

"Long live the great Prime," he drawled. He held his breath as a whip was put into his hand. He could remember its bite across his exposed back. He remembered the burn as it tore away at chunks of his tender skin, letting Energon bubble to the surface and ooze to the ground for him to clean later. And now, in some sort of cruel, twisted irony, the pain that Megatron had inflicted upon him was his to bestow upon the Prime.

It made him ache. It made his eyes burn and his jaw clench as he turned toward the helpless captive. It made a bitter bile climb up his throat as he, the coward, the traitor, the survivor, lifted the whip.

It tore into Optimus Prime's back and side as the torture device curled around him. He hardly made a noise, even when his head hung in pain for he was too weak to hold it up any longer.

The crowd filled the silence following every crack of the whip with shrieks of glee. They called for his suffering in tones of vicious joy as Starscream's grip on the torture device trembled. They would hold this moment in their hearts and make him relive it again and again in his mind, he knew, for they would never let him forget that the last moments he spent with Optimus would be of him causing the Prime pain.

His anger made the blows harder. As the glowing blue lifeblood of Autobot leader splattered his clothing, he saw less of the faces of the crowd and more red as it flooded his vision. He pictured Megatron on his knees, his back on display for that cruel whip to destroy. He imagined it was Megatron's suffering that earned the delight of the monstrous horde of Decepticons, not Optimus'. That Optimus was the one watching on, safe and away from the pain, instead of Megatron.

Pain suddenly shot through his wrist and he jerked away from the prone form of the Autobot leader to find that claws had punctured the skin and thin rivulets of Energon were sliding down his arm. He glared venomously at his leader.

"I said enough, Starscream. Listen when I given you an order the first time and I won't have to resort to other more painful methods of obtaining your cooperation," Megaton hissed, tearing the whip from him. He almost took a layer of Starscream's skin with it. He tried not to snarl at the Decepticon leader, turning away to survey the damage he himself had done to the very person he wanted to harm the least. It was a punishment almost too cruel to recover from. It broke the very promise that he had made to Optimus when they had first begun their relationship in secret; Starscream would inflict no pain upon him. It was the only way Optimus would ever be able to trust him. The fissure between the factions was too large, too deep, to heal with whispered words and promises that nothing would keep them apart. That their differing opinions wouldn't cause the first cracks in their love.

Ratchet and the others had never approved, through they accepted it with heavy hearts. Megatron had been much less accepting when the truth came to light. It was why Starscream was at the execution to begin with. It was to make him pay for his deception. His leader wanted him to pay for betraying those who he called his brothers. He was the traitor, the survivor. Megatron wanted to change that.

"Knock Out, bring me the sword," their leader ordered. The medic nodded quickly, scurrying off like the rat that he was to retrieve it. Starscream tried to tune them out. He wasn't going to watch his love die by his own sword. A sword that Starscream had given as a gift many, many years ago.

It was dragged out, the tip carving a thick line in the stage for it weighed the small man carrying it down too much for it to be lifted off the ground. The gathered Decepticons fell silent, so overcome with anticipation they practically trembled at the sight of the ornate handle being turned toward their grand commander. Megatron lifted it with ease, examining the blade with interest, before turning to face the audience.

"Loyal Decepticons, bear witness to the destruction of the Autobots!" he yelled; the roar in response was almost deafening. Amidst the cries for Energon, Starscream's feeble protests were lost. The blade was raised, poised above Optimus' lowered head. Then brought down.

Starscream's spark stopped. The crowd hushed.

The head of the last living Prime rolled.


End file.
